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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962663">Meant to be</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst'>winter_angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Gyms, M/M, Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:35:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Brock's AC going out is fate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mistletoe Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Meant to be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts">Kalika999 (kalika_999)</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a drab day, overcast and gray, a layer of smog like gray clouds hiding the sun from shining on Brock. He stood at a crosswalk, headphones in chewing on nicotine gum while scrolling through social media. He was a lurker on Facebook, keeping tabs on old friends, old enemies and family members he had no wish in interacting with and hadn’t for years. Not since he was white trash living out of a rundown trailer park with barely a penny to his name. He’d ascended that, but not by much. A shitty trailer was traded out for a shitty studio. Hours spent shoveling shit turned to hours spent pouring asphalt. New trailer, different park as they say. Maybe he’d never surpass his childhood and upbringing. </p><p>The walk sign appeared and Brock was lost in a flood of bodies from various levels on the social hierarchy. Brock with his cheap sneakers and an outlet Eddie Bauer sweater. To his left was a woman with knock off boots and fake Coach bag. In front of him he saw flashes of a red bottom high heels and a tight, though professional, a line dress. All walks of life found its way to the streets of New York. Brock was one of the many faces, many stories that unfolded around him. He wasn’t the star in this world. If anything he was an extra surviving paycheck by paycheck. Same day, same schedule. He wasn’t bitter about it; he never had the right drive to consider himself anything more than he was. It wasn’t humility as much as an inherited trait from generations of unimportant people. In some ways it was a blessing. He didn’t have any drive to live above his means, no need to be like the woman on his left and fake his way through his own life. It wasn’t pretty, it was far from glamorous, but it was enough for him and that satisfied him. </p><p>He went left and a clump of people followed. He kept his eyes forward, Celine Dion playing the soundtrack to his walk to Subs Sentral. Brock had hated the new business when it sprouted in the place of a failed Thai American fusion restaurant because of it’s spelling alone. But his hatred kindled curiosity and from there he found himself a fan much to his dismay. He couldn’t afford it every day but every other Friday he treated himself to an italian BMT and he was certain it was the best in the city. Michelin restaurants could eat their hearts out. The owner knew his face by now and always called out his order for verification. Brock wasn’t one to deviate. If it ain’t broke, why fix it, right? He nodded his confirmation and joined the gaggle of other working class people who didn’t have it in their budget to indulge on sashimi and beef medallions. They were blue collar folks, ones who looked wistfully at those heading to the Financial District. Brock wasn’t one of them. He’d grown up knowing it would never be him; why would he torture himself with an impossiblity? </p><p>He was content to labor and toil until his body was worn down and all he had to look forward to was to lay at the bottom of a bottle just like his old man. He’d be less mean though; should he find someone and settle down he’d never lay a hand on them. That was one thing he knew for certain. His hoagie was wrapped in white paper and he passed over a twenty. Ten dollars and eighty-five cents well spent in his opinion. He shoved a few bucks into the donation box for the owner’s daughter’s college fund. It wasn’t much but he did what he could. He headed towards the construction site, stowing his sandwich in his backpack, spitting his gum into the gutter before he popped in a new piece. Smoking was a pricey habit and he was doing his best to cut himself off. It wasn’t easy -- it really fucking wasn’t. He’d been smoking since he was thirteen years old and now twenty eight his addiction had been going on strong. He wasn’t interested in dying of lung disease just yet so he was trying to curb it while it was even a remote possibility. </p><p>The crew was just starting to assemble, a group of gruff men that looked exactly as you’d expect a road crew to look like. It was dirty work, physically demanding and under appreciated. It had lended Brock a decent build however, something he polished up at a small pocket gym nestled between an abandoned building and an adult toy shop. It had the cheapest fee and decent equipment. The day was kind to them, the sun shielding from their skin and keeping the heat to a tolerable level. The mugginess could be stifling some days leaving Brock exhausted and soaked with sweat before lunch. He contributed to the banter and listened to the crass tale one his co-workers had about a pretty blonde he’d taken back to his place the night previous. He was still young -- Brock wasn’t anymore, was he? -- and could party into the night and still show up fresh faced and vibrant. Brock envied that a bit. He missed his days of going to bars, getting shit faced and taking good looking men home. These days he was asleep by nine at the latest so he could get up for six. This young man was certainly living his youth to his fullest the way Brock had. He couldn’t hate him for that; but he could still be jealous. </p><p>He got off work at five and, tired and sore, he started the eight blocks to the subway. He didn’t always have to use it depending on where in the city the team was working in. The New York City subway was an experience within itself. A cluster of people that would never be together were far too close and desperately trying not to interact with those around him. He noted a teenager with a purple tail clipped to the back of her black jeans and a dark skinned man with a lizard on his leg staring idly forward eyes glazed over clearly deep in thought. Brock was struck by the urge to touch the lizard. He didn’t. </p><p>His stop came; he was cut off by a tall woman who smelled heavily of cigarettes and a floral perfume. Brock ached for a cigarette. He popped in another piece of gum and headed for the stairs. It was a relief to get back to his apartment. Its door had once been painted blue but it’d flecked away to reveal the steel beneath it. The lock was worn and he had to jiggle the knob to get it to unlock. He was met with a blast of cool air and he cussed. He forgot to turn off his AC far too frequently and he paid dearly for it in electrical costs. He shut it off first and took off his shoes and backpack off second. He tossed his bag on the bed, still unmade, and made a bee-line to the bathroom where he peeled off his clothes and took a shower. Once the smell of asphalt and sweat was washed from him he wrapped a towel around his waist and rooted through his bureau for a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie in preparation to go to the gym. He tried to make the most of his membership seeing as he was shelling out money towards it. </p><p>He had good muscle definition, careful with his body since he started to see tone lines when he first started working on the farm. From there he had built up from the muscle lying beneath flesh to flesh molding along hard muscle lines. It was his hobby and his lifestyle. He mixed up a protein drink while waiting for his hair to dry. He rested in a chair, giving him muscles a momentary reprieve. He thought about bill due dates, about his work schedule and the upcoming weekend. His weekends were quiet for the past few years, a few drinks with old friends on Saturday nights and Sundays he laid low and had a bit of a ‘self care’ kind of day. Not in a prissy way but more of a day of indulgence. He’d swap up chicken from some pork or a maybe a nice steak he got on sale. A few glasses of wine and some Netflix. He thought about how long it’d been since he got laid. Every once in a while he spent Friday nights at a club, scoping out potential lays and each time without fail someone would order him a drink and they’d talk for a few hours before going to his place or his fling’s. First names were swapped, last names omitted for privacy and ensuring the other wouldn’t find their social profiles online and try to make a one night stand into something the other didn’t want. Fast and anonymous it fulfilled his body’s urges and sated him for the next stretch of time. </p><p>Brock wasn’t sure when sex became a chore. It was a good chore but a chore nonetheless, something that had to get done for the sake of his physical (and mental) wellbeing rather than a sought out thrill. Maybe that was what aging did to a man, depleting that juvenile drive to rack up a body count and enjoy all the satisfaction that came with it. Most weeks Brock was satisfied with a hard workout and then resting his muscles while he watched documentaries about serial killers and unsolved murders. Not the most appealing of subject matter but it never ceased to fascinate him. Sometimes he thought about getting a partner; joining one of those dating apps. His choice of entertainment had left him wary of internet dating apps and he wasn’t about to risk his life on Grindr for some ass. In person it was better, safer, and public.  </p><p>The trip to the gym was lackluster. He was caught up in a plethora of other New Yorkers, varied in color, class, and oddities. Brock wasn’t sure he’d call it a melting pot. It was more a soup with different odds and ends tossed in that didn’t quite mesh into one cohesive bite but no one minded it. He ended up at the hole in the wall joint, small and unassuming with equipment that was out of date and spared all the bells and whistles current machines had. But everything worked and that was all Brock could ask for when it has such affordable membership. He nodded at the redhead sitting at the desk, black heeled boots propped up on the old clunky metal desk that had been there since the place had opened all those years earlier. She nodded back at him, green eyes looking from her book to him to verify she knew him and then right back to what looked like a grocery store erotic novella. Brock scoffed to himself. She was fiercely unapologetic in all she did and that pertained to her reading materials in public. Brock went to the locker he was renting and changed into his work out clothes and wrapped his hands. </p><p>He warmed up on the bags between chatting with his fellow gym-goers. They were a friendly bunch. But it felt like a stretch to consider them friends. There was Steve, a well built man who, despite his side, was incredibly kind and gentle. His boyfriend frequented the gym as well, James who went by his childhood nickname of Bucky. Both were intimidating in stature but had the friendliest eyes Brock had ever seen. They never hesitated to spot him or share events from their week when their drink breaks overlapped. Working out was centering for Brock, a sort of non-traditional mediation that always grounded him and cleared his mind. He didn’t think about returning to work and the heat wave heading their way that would leave him miserable and drenched in sweat next week. All he focused on was his fists hitting the bag, hoisting up weights and running on the treadmill. He was consumed by the rowing machine and distracted by the leg press. When he was equal parts sore and tired he said his goodbyes and retired back to the locker room to get changed. </p><p>The evening air was muggy, tomorrow’s heatwave sneaking into the city early. He lived only five blocks from the gym and the walk served as the perfect cool down for his muscles. He dropped his duffle bag from his shoulder to the floor inside his apartment and began to peel off his sweaty clothes on his way to the shower. Once clean, skin still damp, he exited the bathroom and rummaged around the fridge for the chicken breast thawing. The one wall kitchen was cramped in the corner of the studio. Sometimes he thought about getting a bigger place but he spent so little time inside that it proved to be a waste of money which he had little of already of. So he powered through all the downsides of modest living, shouldering the fridge door shut as he rummaged for a baking sheet. </p><p>He turned on the TV to cut through the silence and made his bed. He wasn’t a neat freak but he liked to keep things tidy. It was easy to clutter up a small space and even the smallest things seemed to be a big mess. He retired early, TV playing mutely and casting tall shadows on the wall. The city that never sleeps lights still filtered through Brock’s black out curtains and the low hum of the AC filled the air. Brock was tired but not so much so that he wanted to go to bed. So he scrolled. He scrolled for a few hours, liking the occasional photo and sharing sparse memes until his exhaustion caught up with him and he put the phone on the charger and got into bed properly. The TV was off and the sound of the city seeped through the walls, the perfect lullaby to lull him to sleep. </p><p>On Saturdays he ran errands. He dropped off rent, did his shopping and laundry and treated himself to a latte and a pain au chocolat in a small cafe. He people watched while he indulged. He wondered who they were, where they were going and why. Maybe it was something grand or something horribly depressing. They could have everything lined in front of them or they could be falling apart. It was hard to tell. He wondered what people thought when they saw him, a thirty something sitting alone in a quiet cafe. Perhaps thought he was a recluse or maybe that he was waiting for someone. Brock was rarely waiting for someone. He didn’t see his gym buddies much outside of the gym and he wasn’t certain how adults went about making friends. </p><p>Sometimes Brock thought he was lonely. Other days he was proudly independently because he was too easily annoyed to deal with someone he’d be expected to converse with regularly. </p><p>He polished off his drink and his treat and left the cafe. He grabbed the small bag of groceries resting beside him and went back home. He put things away, everything had its place in his half sized refrigerator and then went back to TV and his phone. </p><p>** ** ** ** **</p><p>The next week was just as hot as Brock had expected but hoped it wouldn’t be. It was hard, miserable work and everyone complained liberally about it. The foreman included. When he was done he didn’t linger seeking out his cool apartment. But when he got to his apartment it wasn’t cool. Brock cussed furiously as he tried to troubleshoot the unit before he took a cold shower and called maintenance. In his three years in the apartment he’d never had to call on the maintenance but there was no way he was going to tolerate going without AC in that heat. He was fairly certain he would get heatstroke and die. Well, maybe not but he’d be incredibly uncomfortable and that was unacceptable considering the cost of the apartment. A man answered with a low tenor and he didn’t seem to mind that Brock was a bit short with him. He promised he’d be up in an hour as there was another tenant who needed a drain snaked. Brock felt his problem was a bit more pressing but he didn’t voice it. He did his best to distract himself, refreshing his email over and over again. All he got from the emails were bill payment receipts and junk but he still checked it.  </p><p>There came a knock on his door and Brock sprang to answer it. He had sweat beading on the back of his neck and he felt like he was being smothered by the heat. Pulling open the door he was met by a man that took his breath away. He was taller than Brock by a few good inches with green eyes and a dark slicked back hair. There was a scar on his chin and his gray tee was molded around his very toned body. A work belt was slung on his narrow hips. </p><p>“Mr. Rumlow?” he asked and Brock tore his eyes from his body to look him in the eyes.</p><p>He hoped that he hadn’t been too obvious in checking him out. Thankfully the heat masked his blush. “Yeah-yes.” Brock stepped back to let him in. </p><p>He entered with a smile that stole Brock’s breath. It had been a long time since Brock had seen a man who did things like this to him. He felt like he was back into high school with a petty crush on nothing but looks alone. Brock had no idea what this guy was like but he wanted to. Strange apprehension was dashed by how handsome he was. Brock led him to the unit somehow able to carry on a conversation while he imagined what his skin looked like under his clothes. The maintenance man knelt in front of the in-wall AC and Brock stepped back to appreciate the sight of him. Even from the back he was delectable. He was wearing work boots that must have been horribly hot but it complimented the aesthetic of him. Brock was a construction worker so being around well built men was nothing new but even the best bodies at work didn’t have this effect on him. It was unexpected and that made it all the more exciting. </p><p>It wasn’t long before the maintenance man pinpointed the problem. He twisted around to look at Brock. “Thermostat batteries are dead,” he explained. “I can run out and get some and come back.” </p><p>Brock expected to be annoyed at the added delay in such heat but the idea of the man returning was too enticing to have any negative feelings in the matter. “Okay…” he paused hoping he’d offer his name. </p><p>The man got his feet and offered his hand. “Jack Rollins. I should have led with that.” </p><p>“Jack.” It felt right on his tongue, like he was meant to say the name all his life. “It’s nice to meet you.” </p><p>Jack smiled. He had a nice smile, exposing strong white teeth. “You as well. I’ll hurry, I know how hot it is.” </p><p>Brock shrugged trying to be nonchalant. It seemed like a good move. He didn’t want to appear needy, regretting how he’d spoken to him on the phone. Thankfully he didn’t seem to hold a grudge which gave Brock an opportunity to rebrand himself from the grumpy tenant to the nice, handsome tenant. And Brock was handsome, he was well aware of it. Jack was also handsome so really they were meant to be together. At least that was what Brock was hoping for. </p><p>While Jack was gone Brock hastily tidied things up and stood in front of the mirror trying to revive his humidity defeated quiff of hair with gel. He added a dash of cologne to mask the sweat and practiced a charming smile. He was quick to answer the door when he knocked and Jack looked a bit startled, hand still up to rap his knuckles against the door. Brock mentally kicked himself.</p><p>Brock couldn’t think of anything to say so, with some shame, he stepped back and held the door open. Jack entered and went to the unit. “It should take long,” he said. </p><p>“Take your time.” Brock replied as pleasantly as he could. </p><p>Jack worked quietly and Brock battled himself on what to say. He settled on, “Have you worked here long?” </p><p>“About six years now. I gotta say you’re one of the quietest tenants here.” </p><p>Brock took pride in that. “I don’t need much.” he said before realizing how lame he sounded. </p><p>“Well it’s still very nice to meet you. It’s nice to meet new people.” </p><p>Warmth gathered in Brock’s chest at the ‘nice to meet you’. “It’s nice to meet you as well,” Brock said. He leaned against the wall. “So six years huh? Must like the job.” </p><p>“I like fixing things. Plus I get free rent from it.” </p><p>Brock whistled. “That’s a pretty good deal.” </p><p>“Yeah, I lucked out. Honestly I would have done it anyway. There’s nothing better than fixing things and solving problems. Instant gratification.” </p><p>Brock could think of other gratifications he could have with Jack. He wasn’t sure how to introduce that into the conversation. This wasn’t a club where people were actively looking to hook up and have a good time. He was working and it felt a bit inappropriate to be hitting on him but he couldn’t help himself. Jack was too...too perfect. </p><p>“What do you do when you’re not working maintenance?” </p><p>“I’m a computer repair technician at a little shop up the street. I configure new hardware, repair motherboards and create new networks. It’s close enough for the apartment that should I get a call I can leave my employees to work while I come back.” </p><p>“Your employees?” </p><p>“I own it.” Jack said looking over his shoulder. “So if you need a computer fixed feel free to drop in. I offer a discount to tenants.” </p><p>He was handsome, handy and owned his own business? Brock was fairly certain he was the definition of the perfect man and Brock hoped he was gay. “You look pretty good for a computer technician,” Brock said without thinking. He heard himself and rapidly tried to backtrack. “I mean -- ”</p><p>“No it’s okay. I know what you mean. I doubt it’ll last now that my gym shut down.” </p><p>It felt like fate suddenly. Like his AC was meant to break down so Brock could get to know this perfect man. “I know a gym near here.” </p><p>“You do?” Jack perked up. “How far?” </p><p>“Couple of blocks.” </p><p>Jack laughed. “Maybe your AC was meant to break down.” </p><p>“I was just thinking that,” Brock said honestly. </p><p>Jack worked in silence for a bit and Brock just soaked up the sight of him. He wondered what kind of kisser he was. Typically Brock was good at judging the types, those would be fierce and rough and those would be soft, tender, intimate -- but he couldn’t tell with Jack. Maybe it was because the majority of their interaction Jack’s back had been to him. The answer laid in the eyes, the light in them was telling and Brock hadn’t gotten a chance to really evaluate them. He made a mental note to check it when he was facing him again. </p><p>“That should do it,” Jack leaned back on his haunches and hit the button. Nothing happened. “Hmm…” Despite admiring the pinnacle of a man in front of him fear struck him. He wouldn’t survive this heat wave without an AC. “Let me check the breaker.” </p><p>He fiddled with it and then, miraculously, the machine came humming to life and Brock released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. </p><p>“There we go.” Jack said, getting to his feet. He turned to face Brock with a content, satisfied expression on his face -- a look of gratification. Brock wondered if that would be how he looked when orgasmed. “Sorry for how long it took.” </p><p>“Don’t apologize,” Brock said quickly. “Thank you for fixing it.” </p><p>“I should have checked it more regularly,” Jack said in a regretting tone. “It’s my fault it happened.” </p><p>“No,” Brock insisted and then he took a chance and said, “Did you want me to give you the address? I can take you if you’d rather. Show you around. Let you meet everyone.” </p><p>Looking surprised Jack said, “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” </p><p>“It’s not an inconvenience. I go all the time.” </p><p>“I can tell,” Jack said, giving him a look up and down. “Maybe one day I’ll look that way.” </p><p>Brock was caught between wanting to puff out his chest in pride and being humble and insisting all his hard work was nothing. He opened his mouth to reply but the sound of an Opening ringtone cut in . Jack quickly slipped his iPhone from his pocket and answered it with an apologetic look. The call was short, Jack promising to head up right after he was done with his current job -- Brock’s. He hung up and apologize formally. </p><p>Brock knew he was going to hurry out to his next job so Brock decided he may as well shoot his shot. “Do you have a day off?” </p><p>“On Thursdays another tenant here takes over.” </p><p>“Maybe I can show you the place,” Brock said and, with a small gulp added, “Maybe we can get a few drinks after. If you want.” </p><p>Jack smiled. “That sounds like a plan to me.” </p><p>Plan. Not a date. Brock tried not to be too disappointed. “Perfect. Thursday then.” For some reason he held out his hand again and Jack shook it, sealing the deal. </p><p>Jack left and Brock sucked in a deep breath, adrenaline that he’d managed to keep under wraps flooded him. He was keyed up and there was only one good way to drain that energy -- the gym. </p><p>** ** ** **</p><p>He walked in and the redhead, Natasha, was still there. But today she was reading a book with a dark cover that he suspected what some murder mystery of sorts. “Hey, you guys are still accepting new people right?” </p><p>Natasha tilted the back book forward and narrowed her eyes at him. “Depends on the person. Since when do you pull in new members, Rumlow?” </p><p>“Since I met someone who’s looking for a gym, Romanoff.” </p><p>She glowered a moment before smiling cheerfully. “Can’t say we don’t need the money. So who’s the guy?” </p><p>“Who said it’s a guy.” </p><p>“I know you.” </p><p>Brock’s cheeks flushed a bit. He didn’t hide his sexual orientation but he didn’t feel the need to share it with everyone he met. But Natasha had a way of knowing everything about a person from simply looking at them -- a trait that Brock could only wish he had. At least then he’d know if he was wasting his time on a fruitless chase. </p><p>“If you must know,” Brock sighed heavily. “Yes, it’s a guy. He’s the maintenance worker for the building.” </p><p>“And…” Natasha drawled, aware of the details he wasn’t sharing. </p><p>“And he’s...good looking.” </p><p>“There are lots of good looking guys in this city. Why that one? Victim of opportunity?” </p><p>“Ha ha.” Brock said dryly. “He brought up gyms if you must know. And he agreed to drinks after I show him this place.” </p><p>“Heterosexual or homosexual drinks?” </p><p>Brock could honestly claim, “I have no idea.” </p><p>“That’s a rocky position to be in.” </p><p>Brock was well aware of that and it got under his skin a bit. “I don’t remember asking for advice.” </p><p>“No need to ask. I give it out free to all members of my gym.” </p><p>“It’s Clint’s gym.” </p><p>“And I run it.” </p><p>She wasn’t wrong. Her boyfriend was incredibly hands off despite owning the business. He claimed he didn’t have the head for numbers. Thankfully Natasha did. There was a proper office but she didn’t spend much time in it, referring to man the desk in case anyone new popped in which happened occasionally. She would, after analyzing them and considering them a goood match, would then try and sell a membership which she was almost always successful with. She was good at convincing people to do things. </p><p>“We could just be friends,” Brock pointed out. </p><p>“You don’t like friends.” </p><p>She had a point but Brock wasn’t going to admit that. “Maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf.” </p><p>Natasha snorted at him and it was a little insulting. “Okay, Rumlow. Whatever you say.” </p><p>He carried on to the locker room and as he went about his work out, he was quieter than usual caught up his head. He knew people noticed. His gym buddies were the only ‘friends’ he really needed. Sometimes they saw each other outside of the gym getting a few beers and chatting about real life things. They were infrequent but enough to satisfy Brock’s needs for companionship. He was getting ready to leave in the locker room when Steve approached him. The big blond haired, blue eyed man looked a bit worried. </p><p>“Are you okay?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Brock said a bit gruffly. “Just a little tired.” </p><p>Steve didn’t look completely convinced but nodded his head. In an attempt to seem like he wasn’t bothered he said goodbye to everyone but he didn’t miss the shine of worry in their eyes. He never knew how much to share with them. They shared common interests and were friends on Facebook but it wasn’t like they were planning shindigs together or hosting group dinner. Brock wasn’t sure there was a name for the sort of relationship they shared. And usually Brock was okay with that but it was starting to wear on him a bit. </p><p>** ** ** ** </p><p>Thursday came along quickly and Brock met Jack in front of the building. His mouth went dry as he saw the man in gray sweatpants and a navy tee. He tried not to look down because he didn’t trust his body not to betray him. They exchanged small talk on the walk over. Jack was passionate about his work, reiterating how much he loved to fix things and put them together. Brock talked about working construction in the city, complained about the OSHA regulations that left him burdened in the hottest equipment possible all in the name of ‘safety’. Jack didn’t mind his complaining lending in his sympathies. He knew the horror in working the blistering summers and brisk winters. It was nice to have someone to relate to. </p><p>As they reached the gym Brock gave a run down of everyone he’d meet. Steve, the gentle giant, Bucky his quiet companion, Natasha a sometimes prickly woman, and Clint, an absent minded though friendly owner. They were all characters in a way, a bundle of kindness and strangeness that grew on you the longer you were around them. Jack didn’t seem off-put in the slightest. He actually seemed interested to meet them. Brock wasn’t sure if he was nervous or eager for him to meet them. The idea of Jack being in his life was too enticing to find any fault in anything that involved them spending more time together. He knew he was moving irrationally fast. Brock had no idea what Jack was really like. He was going off time spent together which was just shy of one hour and he was already trying to intertwine them. It wasn’t nonsensical and that made it all the more thrilling. Walking through the door sent a giddy rush of nerves straight to his head and he felt faint for a moment. Natasha’s feet weren’t propped up today, no doubt in preparation for the new member. Her eyes were sharp and focused when they entered. Jack looked around the space before landing on her. He smiled, that wonderful smile and greeted her. </p><p>“Hi, I’m Jack Rollins.” </p><p>“Pleasure.” She stood in one graceful moment. “Brock tells me you’re in the market for a new gym.” </p><p>“Unfortunately the Planet Fitness I was part of is moving to a bigger space and the commute isn’t worth it.” </p><p>“Well we have no plans, or means, of moving so you can count on that.” Natasha stepped around the desk. “I’ll show you around and then Rumlow can introduce you properly.” </p><p>Brock feared she was too assertive that it would put Jack off but he didn’t seem too bothered by it, following her around as she toured the machines. Brock wanted to shadow, wanted to see how Jack was feeling and if he was taking to the venue or not. He’d feel foolish if they’d gone through it all only to have him back out. It wasn’t the world’s nicest gym but it was clean and had a good crowd. He hoped that would be something that Jack could appreciate. It was no Planet Fitness but he’d be hard pressed to find another gym with the kind of chemistry that lived within the walls. He distracted himself on the treadmill, trying hard not to try and overhear what Natasha was saying to Jack in the office. </p><p>“Who’s the new guy?” </p><p>Brock stumbled in surprise, nearly face planting and making a fool of himself as he whipped his head around to find Barton standing there, a purple towel slung over his shoulders. “Jesus, announce yourself.” </p><p>“You looked too busy staring.” The blond cocked his head and said, “You know him, right? Nat said something about you bringing some new guy. Hope you’re not looking for some finders fee.” </p><p>Brock rolled his eyes, cutting the machine. “He just needed a new place. I suggested yours.” </p><p>Clint grinned. “Well good! Thank you. Can’t say it wouldn’t do us some favors. Put a little cushion between us and the bills, y’know? He’s pretty good looking. Nat thinks you have alternative motives and I’m starting to think so too. Not that it’s a bad thing. You could do with a relationship -- or even a friend seeing as we apparently didn’t make the cut.” </p><p>“Who says you’re not my friend?” Brock as but his chest felt funny at voicing that. Were they friends? </p><p>“Well you never seem to want to hang out outside of the gym -- which is fine, no pressure man -- but I can’t help but think you’ve gotta be a little lonely.” </p><p>Brock would never have considered himself lonely. He had plenty of interactions with people, but Clint had a point about his lack of intimacy with his friends. He treated them more as acquaintances because it was easier. Plus it saved him from any awkwardness that would come from Brock making an effort that wasn’t reciprocated. Finding out that he had been misreading all the invites to the bar made him feel foolish; he should have read between the lines a bit better. Of course hindsight was twenty-twenty and there wasn’t much he could do in the present besides using the information to move forward. It felt like a bit much, tackling the idea of making a group of new friends while juggling his childish crush on his handsome maintenance worker. </p><p>“Maybe you and your friend can get drinks with us tomorrow night? Close up early and hit the bar.” </p><p>Brock almost refused, purely on instinct, but paused as he was reminded of the previous conversation. “Sure I can. I’ll ask Jack if he’s interested.” </p><p>“Good! We’ll make a normal person outta you yet, Rumlow. Oh, looks like your friend has survived Natasha’s vetting. Let’s see if he was spooked out of joining.” Brock’s heart hopped to his throat as he worried that maybe he had been spooked by her intense, inquisitive nature. “See you.” </p><p>“See you,” he mumbled watching the two exit the office. His shoulders deflated with relief when he saw Jack’s megawatt smile. Clearly things had worked out or else he wouldn’t have looked so happy...right? Jack headed towards him and Brock leaned awkwards against the rail in a failed attempt at looking casual. “How’d it go?” </p><p>“Good. Natasha is great.” </p><p>“She is?” Brock could think of a thousand words to describe how Natasha was perceived, especially from a stranger’s perspective, and not one was ‘great’. </p><p>“Yeah. I think this would be a great fit -- thank you again. Drinks will be on me.” </p><p>Brock was equally antsy and relieved at him joining the gym. Spending time with Jack was an attractive feature but he feared how it would unfold. There was no telling if they even had a semblance of chance. Brock was literally going on all-in in a way he’d never dared to before. Maybe it was his age, maybe he was just feeling like the gamble could pay off. Whatever it was it had led him here, to standing in front of Jack, his new gym buddy with a promise of drinks later. It looked pretty good from where he was standing. Jack snagged the empty treadmill beside him. As they jogged Jack chatted with him. They talked about the weather and about work. Jack reminded him about how much he loved what he did, despite it being untraditional and shared that he moved to the city from a small town in Kentucky and hadn’t looked back since his parents passed away. Brock shared his small beginning in the projects of Brooklyn. He was careful not to overshare but because Jack had shared the passing of his parents, he mentioned he didn’t get along with his father so there was no contact there. It was a spruced up version of the truth and that was perfect for a first...whatever it was they were doing. </p><p>Brock wasn’t sure if he was approaching him as a friend or as a potential love interest and that landed him smack dab in the middle of a strange place he’d never found himself in before. He was going to make the most of it however. </p><p>After they got done with the treadmills he brought Jack around to meet everyone. Brock skipped over the infrequent visitors and introduced him to the core four. His, dare he say, friends?</p><p> He started with Steve seeing as he was the most intimidating looking. They shook hands and explained pleasantries as he voiced his appreciation of the humble gym. Steve told him it was an honor to meet him and when Jack mentioned that Brock had brought him in Steve praised him as a ‘great guy’ which brought color to Brock’s cheeks. It was strange to think that these people he never really spent much time with would have such kind things to say about him. Bucky, his reserved self even had praises to sing about him, suggesting Jack stick close if he wanted to learn a few things about staying in shape. Clint was his chatty self introducing himself as the owner of the gym but assuring him that management went through Natasha. He poked fun at Brock, calling him a homebody and saying that Jack could hopefully get him to open up more. Brock could have throttled him. Jack laughed however and said he’d do his best. Brock felt a bit less homicidal. Jack had already been acquainted with Natasha, who had gone back to her default position and was reading. </p><p>They did light weights, Brock taking it easy to match Jack’s speed. He wasn’t looking to build muscles as much as he was trying maintaining his swimmers build with no bulky muscles like Brock had. Plus Brock didn’t want to be all sweaty at the bar. They wrapped up in two hours and Brock and Jack talked on the way to the locker room. Brock had to focus hard on keeping his eyes forward. Every cell in his body was telling to look and see what this specimen of a man looked nude but Brock didn’t want to spoil the potential before him, regardless of how slim his chances were. Finally they were both clothed and Brock could breathe easy. </p><p>On the walk to bar Jack talked about the fruit trees that had grown on his property and how he couldn’t eat a paw paw to this day because of him eating far too many once when he was a kid and got violently sick. Brock had no idea what a paw paw was and Jack described it as tasting a bit like bananas and mango. It was an unlikely mashup but Brock figured that they must have good if a child would have overindulged on them. He tried to imagine Jack as a kid sitting in a tree munching on fruit, cheeks all sticky and sweet. It was a cute thought. They arrived at the bar, a hole in the wall much like the gym, and the owner and bartender waved at him. Bruce was a small man with dark hair. His wife Betsy waitressed and together they had run the bar for the past three years. It saw regular visitors and Bruce knew most of them by name. </p><p>“Bar or table?” </p><p>“How about a table,” Jack said. “Seems less noisy.” </p><p>It also seemed a lot more personal and Brock’s heart skipped a beat in excitement. They settled at a corner table where the light was low. “I can’t thank you enough for showing me the gym. Everyone is so friendly. You all seem like very good friends.” </p><p>Brock was still struggling to wrap his head around that word but he smiled. “They’re a good bunch. A little odd at times -- especially Clint -- but they mean well. Except maybe Natasha.” </p><p>Jack laughed. “She’s great. She was very firm with me about how things are run and I appreciated her candor. Tells me that she prides herself on the environment she maintains there. And clearly it’s working. I’m honored to be offered a spot.” </p><p>Betsy brought them two Samuel Adams and they chatted between sips. They had two more each before Jack settled the tab and they headed back to the apartment building. Brock was riding a buzz so when they arrived he turned to face Jack and said, “Hey we’re all going out tomorrow night. You want to come?” </p><p>“Would I be imposing?” </p><p>“Nah, Nat likes you. You’re one of us now.” </p><p>Jack smiled. “That sounds great, thank you.” </p><p>Jack walked him to his apartment and Brock was hyper aware of that. He hesitated out his door, intentionally fumbling with his keys. Jack leaned against the wall. “Thanks again for showing me the place, Brock.” he said. “I know I keep saying that. Sorry.” </p><p>“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you liked it. I was worried you’d hate it and I’d never see you again.” He paused in horror as he realized what he’d said. </p><p>“You don’t have to worry about that.” Jack said, far too cryptic for Brock’s liking. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” </p><p>“See you…” Brock said. </p><p>Jack smiled and went on his way. Brock stared until he was gone and then finally his door fell open and he walked through feeling like he was on cloud nine. He tossed his keys onto the door and stood tilted his head back and grinned at the ceiling. Brock felt a bit like a love struck teenage girl but it was the closest thing he could relate to what he was feeling. It was like he was floating when made himself scrambled eggs for dinner and took his shower. Things were looking up and maybe, just maybe, things would end up in his favor. It felt possible -- anything felt possible tonight. Maybe what they’d shared wasn’t a date but to him, it had been a pre-date. An establishing of the two of them as more than newly met strangers. It was something a bit more complex, something deeper, and he could bask in that knowledge forever. He wondered how it would feel tomorrow in the presence of others but in a way it felt like a second date. Jack clearly hadn’t had a horrible time if he was willing to spend more time with Brock. </p><p>Brock sprawled out on his bed in a fashionista manner but he didn’t care. He felt good and it was all because of one Jack Rollins. Brock thought he could get used to that name. It had already imprinted in his brain and it would be dislodged anytime soon and Brock didn’t want it to be. He sighed blissfully and got into bed. He tried to find a Facebook for Jack and failing that he tried Instagram with no luck. That struck him as odd and he considered shooting him a text but chose against it. He didn’t want to come off too pushy or needy. Not yet at least. Should they form a relationship properly he could see himself sticking close. How could he not when it came to a man like Jack Rollins? </p><p>Brock drifted off in fantasies about being Jack’s boyfriend. </p><p>** ** ** **</p><p>There was an upbeat gait to his step as he walked to get his weekly sub. It was strange to have such a change in mood; Jack made him happy from a distance and that had never happened before. It almost felt fake -- things weren’t supposed to be like so early. They shouldn’t at the least. Brock was never outright remarkable when it came to relationships. Short, fleeting. He was the one who shied from that four letter word. He cut ties when a partner uttered it but in his mind he was imaging what it would sound like coming from Jack’s lips. </p><p>Good, he decided. It would sound so good. </p><p>Work was taxing but no amount of exhaustion was going to kill his mood. He was nervous of course, it was a secondary emotion to his elation at seeing Jack twice in two days but it was just as poignant. He was sharply aware of it, a secondary line of thoughts trying to thwart his positivity towards the situation. Thoughts that he was reading too much in, that he was setting himself to fail because there was no way a man like Jack would ever be interested in him, gay or not. It wasn’t like he had much going for him besides his looks -- and even that wasn’t assured when it came to over thinking. Maybe Jack didn’t like his partners to be overly muscular or stronger than him. What if Brock was off putting in that regard. He dearly hoped not but nothing was assured because, really, how well did he know Jack Rollins?</p><p>He knew he was passionate about what he did and that his eyes shone when he smiled. He knew that Jack liked to pick up a tab and that even after a few drinks he was steady. Steadier than Brock at least who was a bit of lightweight, a trait he hadn’t intended to show early on. But even though he had Jack still agreed to go out with him again. Well, not with him primarily but with everyone. Suddenly he was struck with a paralyzing possibility -- what if he was only doing it to meet everyone from the gym and Brock was just a casualty in that. He tried to shake it off, leaning against the work truck as he tipped a cold bottle of water from his lunch pail into his mouth. The truck was hot to the touch having been baking in the sun since they arrived at the site. Brock shifted off from it and drew in a deep breath trying to steady himself. </p><p>His sandwich tasted even better than usual and he lended that towards what he had to look forward to that night. When work finally winded down he legged it back to his apartment to take a shower. He spent too long staring at himself in the mirror, fussing with his hair with more care that usual, which he had to admit was saying something. Everything had to be perfect so things would fall into place.  So that he had the best possible chance of seeing if his feelings were reciprocated. So he could see if Brock could ever call Jack his own in the future. </p><p>It was now a week since he first met Jack and he was already daydreaming about a future together. He had fallen hard and fast and that was a recipe for disaster. But that didn’t discourage that in the slightest. If anything it was a challenge to overcome. </p><p>Brock and Jack walked to the gym together as they had yesterday and Jack prodded about Brock’s day. </p><p>“Same old, same old.” Brock admitted. They paused only for a moment at the crosswalk before it lit up. A balding man with a worn leather suitcase hurried across, accidentally bumping Brock. Brock naturally checked for his wallet and was glad to find it in place. Pick pockets didn’t have a certain look and he couldn’t be too careful. “Bake in the sun and pour asphalt.” </p><p>“Sounds more exciting than sitting in the office working on CPU adapters.” </p><p>Brock didn’t even try to pretend he knew what that was so he laughed. “Different strokes for different folks and all that right? I couldn’t bear to sit all day -- I’m too fidgety.” </p><p>“You seem like the kind of guy who has to keep moving. I don’t think you’d take to what I do. Except maybe maintenance. I think you could have a real knack for it. You don’t mind physical labor, you’re smart.” </p><p>“Me? Smart? You got the wrong guy buddy. I barely scraped by in highschool.” </p><p>Jack frowned a bit, turning his eyes to him. “There’s more than one way to be smart, Brock. I wasn’t a stellar student but I found what I was good at. I can’t say I’ve seen you at work but I trust my judgement enough to know that you’re a good employee. Plus not everyone can work out the way you do -- you look great. You’ve got a real knack for that as anyone can see” </p><p>He was too nice. Brock wanted to think it wasn’t genuine, that it was simply him trying to appease him but his eyes were warm, determined and genuine. It choked Brock up a moment as he scrambled for a response. Color crept up his cheeks at Jack soothing any worries that he was physically undesirable. “Thank you,” he said, sounding a bit defeated. “It’s… It’s just my niche I guess.” </p><p>“As it clearly was meant to be. I’ve got computers and you’ve got weights. A strange pair, I’d say.” </p><p>A pair. He called them a pair, he recognized them as something together. It could have easily been the friendship he was referring to but Brock didn’t want to think about that. He watched an empty Pepsi bottle roll in across the sidewalk and settle against the door of a tailoring shop. </p><p>“A strange pair,” he echoed before it occurred to him that it wasn’t a Thursday. “Hey, aren’t you on call?” </p><p>“Nope,” Jack adjusted the duffle bag. “I cashed in a favor with Pietro.” </p><p>“Pietro?” </p><p>“The part timer. He was a good sport about it. I’m all yours tonight.” </p><p>All his. All the terms he used seemed to lean towards something more than friendship but Brock was scared of getting his hopes up and being disappointed. They arrived at the gym and Natasha wasn’t manning the desk for the first time. Clint was and he was spinning around looking miserable. He perked up when he saw Brock however. “Hey! You brought the newbie again. How’s it going?” </p><p>“Great. How are you?” </p><p>“Not great. Natasha’s on the phone so she’s making me sit here.” </p><p>Jack smiled sympathetically. “Hopefully it’s a short call.” </p><p>“It’s been like ten minutes. It better be ending soon.”</p><p>“Maybe they’re charging by the minute,” Bucky quipped from across the gym. </p><p>Clint spun to face him with his middle finger up. “I’m telling Nat you said that.” </p><p>Bucky snorted and turned back to his bench pressing boyfriend. Brock was aching to get back to his normal work out but he hated being sweaty when he went bars so he resigned himself to another light workout today. Jack and Brock went to the locker room to change. Brock had to remind himself to focus his eyes forward as he changed into his workout clothes. “They’re funny,” Jack said. </p><p>“They think they are,” Brock corrected. </p><p>Jack laughed. “And so are you.” </p><p>“Well now you’re trying to butter up to me.” </p><p>Jack was dressed so Brock was free to send him a dramatically suspicious look. Jack queried a smile Brock hadn’t seen before and said, “Maybe I am.” </p><p>Brock was struck dumb as Jack zipped up his duffel, tossed it into his locker and gave the lock a spin. ‘Maybe I am.’ Was it friendly banter that he was reading too closely to or was it something more? Dumbstruck Brock followed him out. They seemed to be creating a schedule, going to the treadmills first, the same machines they used yesterday. Jack told him about an Alienware that had been brought into the shop that was beyond him so he’d passed it to one of his employees. </p><p>“If anyone could break it down and fix it, it’s Tony.” </p><p>“I’ve never even heard of Alienware.” </p><p>“Most people haven’t. It’s for gaming, a subsidiary of Dell.” Jack notched up his machine and Brock copied the action. “I mean, unless you’re a gamer. I don’t think I asked you about that.” </p><p>“If I was a gamer I’d know what Alienware was,” Brock said teasingly and Jack laughed. </p><p>“There are other gaming companies,” he argued. </p><p>“I’m not really a gamer. I probably haven’t touched a gaming system since I was kid and borrowed my friend’s Game Boy.”</p><p>“That makes two of us. I prefer coding.” </p><p>Brock never thought he’d like someone who spoke in technical gabber but here he was. </p><p>“Like dying?” </p><p>Jack laughed, a rich loud laugh that Brock knew he wouldn’t ever tire of hearing it. “No, computer codes.” </p><p>“Ah.” Brock said as if that made even a smidge of sense. </p><p>“Do you own a computer?” </p><p>“I have an iPad.” </p><p>“Handy.” </p><p>“Sometimes.” </p><p>Jack laughed again. They ran in silence for a minute before they slowed a cool down pace. Afterwards Jack took a drink break and Brock went to the front desk to let Natasha in on the invitation he’d extended Jack. “I told Jack he could have drinks with us.” </p><p>“Are you asking or telling?” She rose a brow, lowering her book a bit. </p><p>Brock rubbed the back of his neck. “Both?” </p><p>“Hm.” she sniffed and went back to her book. “I suppose it’s fine, Rumlow.” </p><p>“Thanks Natasha.” </p><p>“Mmhm.” </p><p>It was all he was going to get out of her so he went to the bench where Jack was sitting going through his phone. Brock grabbed his water bottle and took a swig. “Everything okay?” </p><p>Jack nodded. “Pietro had a question about where the ratchet was in the boiler room.” He set down his phone on the bench. “It’s nice to be able to leave your things out without them getting stolen.” </p><p>“Natasha doesn’t tolerate stealing.” </p><p>“I didn’t think she would.” Jack got his feet and nodded at the weight rack by the mirrors. “Wanna hit weights first?” </p><p>The two were quickly becoming gym buddies and he loved that. He was aching to get back to the bag but spending time with Jack trumped that. Besides there was always tomorrow -- assuming there weren’t more drinks in his future. He wished there was a shower available. That would solve all of his issues. They worked out until eight when Clint and Natasha closed up early for drinks. Brock had unspent energy but he decided he’d lend it towards the evening. </p><p>The walk over Jack and Steve got to talking about work; Steve was the line cook at a four star restaurant uptown but expressed a lot of interest in the technological side of Jack’s work. He had better questions to ask than Brock did much to his dismay. He’d have to step it up if he was to get Jack look at him with the impressed gaze he had for Steve. Bucky was roped into the conversation when Steve started talking about the processing power of his XPS 15 which he used for his freelance accounting contracts with small businesses in lower Manhattan. Sometimes it felt like everyone had a more luxurious position than Brock. Usually he didn’t care -- he was a shit cook and hated doing it and he didn’t have the brain for numbers. He was a bit jealous of Clint and Natasha however. Owning a gym was one of those unattainable dreams that people harbored despite knowing there was no way they’d come to fruition. Clint kept Brock busy talking however, teasing him the idea of getting new bags. </p><p>Natasha kept pushing in a firm ‘maybe’ when Clint raved about the bags he’d found online. He couldn’t help but be a bit touched. He was really the only one who used them save for random people giving it a try.  Bucky would sometimes but it was mostly for the benefit of Brock and that left him feeling… He wasn’t sure what he felt, he wasn’t even certain it had a name. He felt indebted and thankful all at once. A part of him wanted to resist this feeling, to pull back and go back to how things were. Another part of him wanted to go all in. To experience something new and exciting on all sides. Not just with Jack but with friends, real actual friends that he hadn’t had since his school days. As much as he loved his independence there was something very attractive about being around people -- or, rather, these people. </p><p>The bar was full but not packed. They found an empty table quickly and Steve went up to order the first round. “So, when did the two of you meet?” Natasha asked once the beers were cracked open. </p><p>“Last Friday,” Brock said. </p><p>“Mmhm and how did that come about?” </p><p>Natasha had a certain intensity that had once made Brock extremely wary of her. Brock was used to it now of course but he wasn’t certain that Jack would be. He didn’t so much as blink, in fact he smiled. “His AC thermostat was out of batteries.” </p><p>“I see.” she tipped back the green glass bottle. “How’re you liking the gym?” </p><p>“Oh it’s great. Brock had only good things to say so I knew it was worth checking out. And I’m glad I did.” </p><p>Brock’s cheeks heated up and he told him it was because it was warm in the bar and not all because he liked to hear Jack saying his name. The night was pleasant but it felt too short to Brock. Four beers in they all tapped out and started home. They parted knowing they’d all be back together within the next few days at the gym. Clint had his arm around Natasha’s waist and Bucky had slung his arm over Steve’s shoulder. Brock wished he was touching Jack in some way. They said their parting words and soon Brock and Jack were on their way back to the building. Brock was a bit buzzed, but not so much so that he’d forget himself and say something stupid. </p><p>“That was a lot of fun,” Jack said as they idled at the crosswalk. “Thank you for inviting me.” </p><p>“No problem.” Brock watched an impatient young man wearing joggers pressing the button again. </p><p>They exchanged casual conversation as they walked. They talked about the upcoming weather, about how painfully expensive shit in the city was, and about the upcoming week. They arrived at their door and Brock found himself fumbling with his keys again. Brock didn’t know why he was trying this overused, tacky tactic of trying to see if Jack wanted something beyond their budding friendship but he was powerless not to. The what-ifs would plague him if not. </p><p>“Hey Brock?” </p><p>He was startled by him speaking, foolishly enough. He hadn’t really entertained the idea that he’d do anything besides think he was an idiot. “Yeah?” </p><p>“Do you want to get dinner with me on Thursday?”</p><p>Brock pressed the key into his palm to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. It hurt; he was awake. “Yes.”</p><p>Jack sighed out in relief. “Okay. I was afraid that I was reading the signs wrong.” </p><p>Come to think of it his signs had been more obvious than he thought they were but that was okay. There was a date in his future and it was his first date in a long time. But more than that it was a date with Jack and he was eager. Thursday felt like ages from then but it was better than never. When he was in his apartment he stood there and grinned like an idiot. </p><p>Thursday. </p><p>** ** ** **</p><p>They met at Savory, a new up-and-coming restaurant that specialized in smoked meats. Brock had stalked the recipe in preparation so he wouldn’t be indecisive. Lager and smoked meat was certainly the kind of date Brock liked and he was glad to know that Jack shared that. They walked over together, conversation easy despite the upcoming date. They’d worked back the awkwardness on their first visit to the gym and now it was easy. The restaurant wasn’t as busy as it would have been should they had gone out Friday but it was still packed. Foodies, bloggers and food critics were still trying to vet out the place to give the go ahead for the common eaters. </p><p>They sat at the pub tables and a waitress with blue streaks in her hair came over with a kind smile. Jack ordered bourbon and Brock got a lager malt. She weaved between tables and Brock watched a man taking photographs of his plate. Jack milled over the menu and Brock checked to ensure that what he’d seen on the website was also in the menu. It was and Brock could breathe easy. </p><p>“So, besides working out, what do you like to do?” </p><p>“Not too much,” he slotted the menu back into the holder and looked around the restaurant. A polished wooden cutting board had ‘Savory’ wood burned into it hung on the wall. Brock couldn’t decide if it was tacky or not. He’d have to check in the paper to see what the critics had to say. “I read on occasion. Watch too much TV.” </p><p>“What do you watch?” </p><p>“Most boxing. Sometimes Seinfield.” Brock shrugged his shoulders. “Action flicks. You?” </p><p>“I like to build PCs. I sell them in the store after, I just like putting them together.” Jack set the menu aside as well. “You’ve been in the building, what, three years you said?” </p><p>“Yup.” </p><p>“You must like it then.” </p><p>“Well, they’ve got a good maintenance worker,” Brock said with what he hoped was a saucy wink. </p><p>Jack laughed. “It’s good to know I’m appreciated.” </p><p>“I would have died that day if you hadn’t fixed my unit.” </p><p>“Well thank God I was there. If not I wouldn’t have gotten to be out with you tonight.” </p><p>Brock flushed a bit and he knew it didn’t go unnoticed. But he was saved by the waitress returning, setting their glasses down. She asked if they were ready to order and Brock and Jack both confirmed they were. Brock got the smoked ribeye and Jack smoked salmon. She put in the orders and Jack asked about his favorite food (steak, hands down), favorite movie (The Godfather), and color (gray, probably). Their food came in the middle of Brock telling him about a woman who had stepped into freshly poured concrete with a brand new pair of Jimmy Choos and proceeded to scream at the crew for twenty minutes. </p><p>The dishes looked great. Brock’s steak was a perfect rare with a beautiful smoke ring. It was fanned out with dots of a brown sugar balsamic reduction and grilled asparagus stalks to the side. Jack’s salmon was set on top of a rice pilaf with a cold cucumber salad. They talked while they ate, dragging what could have been a thirty minute meal to an hour. It felt too soon when the waitress cleared the plates and left the bill. Brock and Jack both reached for it. </p><p>“I asked you out, I pay.” Jack said firmly. “Next time you can. Deal?” </p><p>“Next time?” Brock echoed, thrilled. </p><p>Jack looked a bit embarrassed. “I-I mean if you want.” </p><p>“I want,” Brock said immediately and the tension in Jack’s shoulders leaked out of them, letting them sag normally. </p><p>They talked on their way home and up until they were in front of Brock’s door. He didn't get a chance to fumble with his keys before Jack kissed him. It was sweet and gentle. New and a bit hesitant but it was perfect. Brock melted into the kiss and was sorely disappointed when they parted. </p><p>“Until next time,” Jack said softly. </p><p>“Until next time,” Brock echoed.</p>
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